Molly In Mind
by HighFunctioningDowntonian98
Summary: Set after The Reichenbach Fall. Sherlock can't stop thinking about his Pathologist, Molly Hooper. He knew she counted, but did she count more than he was aware?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sentiment. God how he hated, it just slowed him down, clouded his head in a thick foggy sense of emotion and lov... And there was another word he detested, used far too much in his opinion, love is overrated. After all what would a high functioning socio-path need from love? Frankly, the word sickened him.

Then there was the people around him, John, Mrs Hudson, and even Molly who had experienced some form of love in their more than average, (excluding John of course) 'boring' lives. At least Molly's however had at least included some excitement, even if Jim from IT had turned out to be a psychopathic consulting criminal, the only one in the world. Now that was something truly exquisite indeed. Who would have thought it? His ringtone was in a word truly shameful to say the least. However, it was rather clever of him to use her to get to him, knowing quite well that she didn't count, or perhaps that was the one thing that Moriarty had missed.

The one thing it seemed everyone had missed, even John, that maybe, Molly Hooper, timid, embarrassing, Dr Molly Hooper did count, counted a great deal in fact. After all she was his pathologist. And a good one at that. But it is this sentiment, this sickening sentiment that is what he, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, must try to smother, to bury. Putting up his walls, his barricades to shield himself from this 'weakness'. To shield Molly from this unreciprocated, love. The type he could never give back. No matter how hard it may be to convince her, everyone. And even himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Finally a decent case to take his mind off all this sentiment malarkey, none of this Bluebell nonsense or any, to put it perfectly straight, insultingly obvious murders. The last was probably the worst, he thought. It was blatantly clear that is was the milkman, no one else could have roamed the streets that early without looking suspicious, not to mention his previous deliveries, they simply screamed murder, or just perhaps everyone couldn't see. How they couldn't have notice seemed completely preposterous to say the least, how the police had ever managed without him was unimaginable. It seemed perfectly clear, after all didn't it seem just a little out of place that the victim had not been left any milk the very morning of his or hers death? And that this 'accident' had occurred at the other victims residences? It was far, far too easy.

But today was going to be different. Lestrade had just called reporting a mysterious break in, and the perpetrator had left behind what seemed to be a series of clues: A bottle opener, a photo of someone, and the most random item of all, a blonde wig. This would certainly be an interesting case, which would hopefully bring his emotional side to a halt. After all that was all he wanted, Dr Molly Hooper would just slow him down, and that was something he didn't need, dead weight. This thought however made him double take, almost making something deep inside him scream out in shear protest, his head even going against him for thinking of such awful things. It was these thought that seemed to find him dumbfounded, something he assured never happened all to often. Why did he keep finding himself in such debate for his 'feelings' for his Pathologist? For starters she wasn't even his whatsoever! He had already been able to deduce that she counted, but did she perhaps count even more than friendship? Did they even share that? It was all foreign grounds these 'emotions', something Lestrade would put as 'not his division,' and it certainly wasn't his.

John had left earlier that morning and had been gone for a considerable amount of time, probably arguing with a machine somewhere he thought. But then again, perhaps this was for the best for he had a violent headache and was in a word, in a foul mood and wanted no company of any kind whatsoever. For now he would stay secluded away in his room, alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dear god, whatever did he do without John? Boredom was one word but really? In his childhood he never had any friends, except one, a small girl. The other children took almost no effort whatsoever in dismissing him as a social outcast, they would call him names, childish names that cut into him like the steel of a blade. Probably one of the reasons he had turned out the way he had. The most favoured of them all, was his personal nickname 'Freak', which as you can imagine did nothing for a twelve year olds confidence.

Then one day, after being chased into the school bike shed by his 'mortal enemies' as he called them and hiding away he began to cry, knees pulled up to his face, the edges of his shorts soaking up his falling tears. As he recalled he had sat there for a least an hour in the cold winter air and in the darkness of the shadows, until she came. She was like an angel, a ray of light in the lonesome darkness inside him. She was so small, but so charming with mousy brown hair that fell onto her shoulders and cheeks that were rosy red. Without any hesitation, she came over to him and held him close even though they had never met before. She cradled him and told him that everything would be fine and to never cry, and just like that his tears ceased.

Agatha had been his only friend and once together they were inseparable, always together never ever seen apart until a day came that still made him sick to this day. After walking Agatha home from the library (their favourite place) he never saw her again. She never turned up at school and never returned his many calls, only to be found dead the following week. Just like that. For weeks he didn't talk, frozen in the utter grief and horror of it all, crying himself to sleep every single night, his nightmares filled with her screams. No one understood him then, never mind now. He had always known that her father had killed her, but nobody believed him. Nobody could believe the 'Freak' that was Sherlock Holmes.

For years he has pushed these memories away to the back of his mind, to hurtful to return to, until his Pathologist had came into his life. Dr Molly Hooper. It was almost insane how much she resembled her, and how very alike they were. How she would stutter, how she admired him and his personality where no one else would. How she would stand with him through thick and thin. Agatha had been so special to him, and reminded him of everything Molly had done simply for him. Molly was always there for him when he needed her and she deserved to be loved more than anyone. She loved him despite everything he was and everything he thought of himself, she was the only person who could see past everything. The only person that could be as innocent and as caring as Agatha. The only one to make him question everything about sentiment.

Truth be told sometimes, well most of the time he was vile to Molly, cold hearted even, maybe to go as far as to say he was heartless, though everyone thought he didn't have one anyway and maybe they were right. But then again was he 'kind' to anyone? Apart from John, Mrs Hudson and Mummy but that was different, but then so was Molly. Despite his behaviour over the past through years she had always been there for him even when he scarcely deserved it, though in many cases there was a tad of flattery involved. Not forgetting she was indeed a fantastic Pathologist, several times published, and a history of perfect straight A*'s as a student, she was far from stupid, which was better than most of the people he knew. It was true that there was something about her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it her voice? Her hair? At the end of the day he hadn't actually lied, her hair did suit her more when parted into a different fashion.

Sometimes she made him feel like he could jump for joy (well perhaps not) or even hide in fear. Emotions were definitely not something he experienced frequently and from his views were huge disadvantages, slowing people down, clouding their minds. (Well let's face it they never did the Woman any good in any case.) It seemed he had another investigation to act upon, one that would prove most interesting. Forgetting his headache and even his scarf, he left 221B and got a cab straight to Barts. He needed answers and though he denied it a visit to Molly Hooper would be more than okay.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wow the traffic in London could be tedious on a Friday, damn rush hour. Walking would probably be faster by now he thought and at this speed be costing him a fortune. Well would be costing _Mycroft_ a fortune anyway. (And 'borrowing' his credit cards really did have its benefits, in more ways than one.) John would probably be wondering where he'd got to by now, returning from his own personal WW3 with a machine at Sainsbury's most likely, and would be sure to text him any moment now. As per usual his deduction was correct.

'Where are you?' _John W_

Time for some improvisation, couldn't have John finding out about Molly, he could practically imagine the smirk on his face. Oh the embarrassment.

'Going to Bart's.' SH

'Has Lestrade called in with a case or something?' _John W_

'No, just need to investigate one of my experiments further, my equipments far less advanced than Molly's. SH

'Let's hope she lets you in, you can be quite awful to her you know. Be nice.' _John W_

Now that was a good point. How could he be so sure that she actually wanted to see him? Now this was something he certainly hadn't thought about. It was common knowledge that she was head over heels for him but what if after years of mere observations, or what John called _'insults'_ had changed her opinion? This needed a plan B.

'Fine. I'll just be myself.' SH

After that he turned his phone off, god knows what John would be thinking never mind texting. Probably mindless drivel about not offending people and what have you.

After 10 minutes he finally arrived, constantly going over what to say to her. The plan was that he would ask her to dinner at Angelo's, it seemed like a reasonable idea in any case, hopefully tonight in fact. When he reached the lab door for the first time in years he hesitated, god was he nervous? God his mind was getting slow. After a quick moment to collect himself he strode into the morgue with his usual demeanour, what john sometimes called pure arrogance, but like that really mattered anyway.

For the first time since they'd met he really looked at her, her hair was out cascading over her shoulders lightly, meaning that she wasn't working on a practical activity but a written, most likely paperwork. On her face was no makeup, and she truly looked beautiful. No lipstick, no gimmicks just pure natural beauty. He was dumbfounded. How had he not noticed this before?

'H-hi Sherlock, what do you need? She stammered, repeating once again the words that had saved him at the Reichenbach Fall, she would always be here for him.

'You.' He said dramatically, acting out their past as if it were the scene from a cheesy film. Wait, did he just laugh? Good lord that was new.

'Sherlock was that humour? Are you quite alright?' She chuckled, when she was this confident it only made her more beautiful to him.

'Yes I suppose it was! But I do in fact need you, are you busy tonight? No plans? No- no dates perhaps?'

'N-no! Do you need help in the lab? I'll gla-.' Of course Molly had no idea.

'No nothing like that. I was wondering if you like to come to dinner with me at Angelo's? That is if you like Italian.' She looked up at him with eyes wide with surprise, she was actually speechless.

'I-I'd love to? I mean, why? Is it a case?' Walking up to her he took her hand and reached for her coat.

'No, no case I'm afraid!'

'Then you're asking _me_ out?' She spoke the word me as if it were a foreign language, had it been anyone else he wouldn't have given her the time of day, but this was Molly Hooper. His Molly Hooper.

'Precisely Molly, I never lie and I would very much like to treat you to dinner, just you and me.'

Maybe sentiment wasn't so bad after all and with that hand in hand he led her outside and hailed a cab to the restaurant, a huge grin across his face and hers, and much to his surprise his cheeks were a feint pink. Sherlock Holmes was blushing.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

He wanted to impress Molly but it was almost sickeningly perfect, almost like one of those awful romantic comedies that John seemed to love. Angelo's was near empty, they had a table for two and it was a moonlit night. Sentiment had certainly started to seep into him, and as scary as it was in all honesty he actually kind of liked it.

Molly sat across him in her usual attire, but this time with her hair cascading over her shoulders. It really did bring out her eyes, yet another thing he had not noticed. For a while they didn't speak and he just simply looked at her, not deducing her for anything whatsoever until to his surprise she broke the silence.

'So Sherlock, I think I'll just come out with it, what's going on? We haven't talked since we got here and-'

'You look lovely today you know? Though you always look lovely, I suppose I've just never really observed.'

Without any thought he reached out and held her hand, god he was definitely part of the losing side now. She seemed to flinch, and was undoubtedly confused now with her brow furrowed, yet she didn't pull away.

'Oh, I- I thank you Sherlock, so do you actually, wait you always have looked lovely. And this dinner,' she gestured to the spread of spaghetti Bolognese, breadsticks and flowers upon the candle lit table. 'It's delicious but- oh god I'm babbling again aren't I? I just think, I think I deserve an explanation.'

He sighed, why did she need an explanation? He was even holding her hand!

'Fine okay. For a while now, since Christmas in fact, I've had some _feelings _something I've never felt before in my life for a certain someone. I'm sure it's not hard to guess _who _I'm talking about or _why _ you're here with me tonight. Understand yet? Or do I need to elaborate in further detail for you?' He added dryly with a low chuckle, not once leaving her eyes.

Her face dropped, probably remembering the awful Christmas the year before. If only the Woman hadn't interrupted their kiss. She didn't even have to be there and she still managed to ruin everything.

'Wait, Irene Adler right? I knew it when I saw the look on your face that night in the morgue. I knew that she must have been special. It was…. truly awful.' Her once hopeful and bright eyes faded and darkened.

Oh dear god. Why did everyone seem to think he had been so in love with her? For a start he hardly knew her! Not to mention her job, downright disgusting to treat herself that way and not very flattering in any sense either. Time to set Molly onto the right track he thought, tell her what really counts as special before she leaves, or worse she starts to think he's gay for John or something ludicrous like that.

'No and not John either, it may or may not surprise you that I am straight though everyone seem to think otherwise. Molly I'd thought I'd made it very clear, the person I've developed feelings for… it's you.'

It felt so good for him to finally let it out. His _emotions_ so called. The only question now was how would she react? Would she be glad, would she be thrilled? (He jolly well hoped so..) Or would she be angry or disgusted? The very thought made him sick. He'd never anticipated failure of any sort, call it over confidence (John had on many occasions made it perfectly clear that he was 'bigheaded'.) But it wasn't like that in the slightest. He just wanted her to know how he felt and understand how much he was trying to simply show it for her and her alone.

Molly's face positively glowed. He'd never seen her so happy and shocked at the same time, part of her looked like she'd get up and kiss him right there (although there would have definitely been mixed feelings there) the other as if she had been winded, like she needed to double take or something. For a second, a silence fell upon them again, this time their cheeks rosy red still holding hands and gazing at each other in amazement. This time he thought that it was his turn to 'break the ice' and there were plenty of things to be said. For one the many apologies he needed her forgiveness for.

'Molly, you've always been special, you've always counted to me. Since Christmas you've been on my mind constantly, I haven't been able to switch off between cases for months now and I thought it was about time I just told you. I've always thought that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing time until you. You, Molly Hooper make me feel happy and sick at the same time, I can't understand what's happening to me even I don't understand. I need you to explain your feelings for me… please.'

'I thought you had always knew, what do you need? Sherlock, how can I explain how I feel for you?'

'I need your _hypothesis _so to speak.'


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

For the first time in the night she looked him straight in the eye, her pupils dilated, pulse elevated. She'd already shown him the science accidently and now all he needed was to hear her say it.

'Off you go Doctor Hooper, it's your turn.' He added with a wink and a low yet gentle chuckle.

Calmer than she'd ever seemed before she cleared her throat and changed her expression to that of an intense, longing gaze finally breaking her emotions free.

'Ever since you walked into the morgue for the first time I've been taken by you. For starters… I mean.. You're gorgeous, but more over you're a genius and though you deny it you're like a super hero, Sherlock. You save people every day, though it may seem like nothing to you, you change people's lives forever; for the better. You've always been _my _hero in any case..'

After this she seemed to revert back to her original self, eyes to the floor, wringing her hands in a nervous manner. Why had it taken him so long to notice her? He knew of her feelings for him but decided to use her instead. If anything he was the villain.

'I'm no hero Molly, I mean just look at me. For years I've used you, treated you like dirt and yet you still call me a hero. I'm a villain, however much I want to be like you, like everyone. I will never be like _everyone else_. I don't deserve you-'

At this she stopped him, placing her hand upon his cheek, their hands still interlaced upon the table.

'Sherlock Holmes if anything it's me he doesn't deserve you! You're brilliant and amazing and at most I'm just Molly the lonely Pathologist. And you are a hero.. so… so there.' She added sticking out her tongue.

This was a side he'd scarcely seen before; she was so happy, so normal in a sense but still just Molly Hooper, fantastic, kind and clever Molly Hooper. He could definitely get used to her.

'I guess that's that then, so I'm a hero. Fascinating.. Oh and by the way you're not just a pathologist, you're _my pathologist _now Hooper.'

'So long as you're _my hero_ then yes, I suppose I am Holmes.'

He hadn't laughed this much for years; everything just seemed to be so easy with Molly, when she was like this it felt simply amazing just being with her. He would've stayed there with her forever if he could've but midnight was approaching and the restaurant would soon be closing. He would walk her home; the skies clear and even the stars would be shining if it weren't for the pollution of the city clouding the atmosphere. Paying the bills and collecting their coats they left the restaurant stepping into the cold breeze hand in hand once more.

'Molly, I insist I walk you home, wouldn't be a true gentleman if I left you here now would I? Plus tonight is beautiful, though not at all as much as you obviously.'

Almost nothing compared to London at night, the lonely yet still congested nature, the constant sound of cars passing by, the sense of rush and adrenaline that never subsided even at nightfall. It was the most perfect feeling, now with his pathologist by his side.

'I'd love to, though I don't think I have much of a choice now do I?'

'Oh I wouldn't say that, you have a choice, you always do… though judging by your pulse and dilated pupils I don't think you'll refuse my offer.'

With a snigger she gently poked him in the side with her free hand, her brows furrowed in a comedic fashion.

'Damn you and your science of deduction! Wait… Are my pupils really that dilated? My pulse elevated?'

'Like I said before Molly I scarcely lie though I could be wrong. You could just be very unfit or even high. Let's hope I'm wrong about the last one.'

**Okay then! I've never wrote a little note at the bottom so bear with me! I hope you're all enjoying my little fic and I'm very grateful for all the reviews so far. I'm sorry I don't update it very often but I'm hoping to get on top of things as I have written the next few chapters all ready for next week! Once again thank you for your support and patience! **

**As always reviews are love. ;) x **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Holding Molly's hand walking through the streets of London at night was sheer bliss. To just talk to her, hold her away from the cold chill of the night air meant more to him than words could say. It was undeniable that she _liked_ him (Oh god, he sounded like a child on the playground) after all she had accepted who he was, and would stick by him through thick and thin for she counted; she would always care for him. If he could trust anyone with his heart it could only ever be her, she would not break him, ever. She would never leave him alone.

They were only a few streets away from her house now and it seemed time to stop the idle chatter and get to the point. Social protocol stated that he _OR _she would have to initiate a kiss of some sort, who that would be was another story altogether. Of course he wanted to kiss her, but would she? And what type of kiss anyway?

Not wanting to startle her, he gently placed his arm around her waist, surprised to see that after this she seemed to cuddle up to him, almost like a cute kitten or something. Not that he could complain.

'You really are adorable when you're like this you know.' She murmured into his shoulder, smelling faintly of his rich, luxurious cologne.

'I am not adorable Molly Hooper!' He exclaimed in a comedic fashion tightening his grip around her, pulling her closer. 'You are though, you're truly and utterly beautiful, Molly.' He chuckled, snuggling her further into the warmth of his coat as they walked.

'Don't be silly Sherlock, name me one thing, go on one thing. Beautiful is certainly not one of them.' She mumbled quietly as if she believed her words.

After a seconds thought he stopped, arriving at the front door of her flat. Instead of playful his nature he grew to that of a tenser, quieter man.

'I know one exact moment, when I saw you in the morgue… On that awful when you told me I looked sad… I you truly saw you then Molly, and you saw me. It was like you had looked into my soul with your eyes… and I finally noticed you too. You were my guardian angel, my salvation when I was so alone. I had such a burden upon my shoulders and you wanted to help me. I felt I had seen you then, this you.' He placed his hand upon her cheek gazing into her eyes, now pricking with tears at his poetic voice, 'And you had never been so beautiful.'

At this moment his heart and mind just stopped. Closing his eyes he leaned in, placing his lips upon hers. They were so soft, so warm even in the cold night air. Closing her eyes she slowly he began to copy his movements, gently kissing his lips, his arms now placed around her, hers around his neck pulling his body flush against hers.

A minute or so passed until they broke away, Sherlock leaning his forehead against hers, his breathyheavy and uneven.

'Do you really mean that Sherlock? Do you really care for me? Please, tell me the truth.'

He was taken aback by her words; still she did not trust him after everything.

'Molly. You are my first kiss. I couldn't imagine ever being as close to someone as you. Only ever you, Molly… Of course I care, I care so much and I don't know how to stop, and I never want to. I will always protect and care for you. You do care for me don't you? I'm sorry for hurting you all those times before-'

She stopped him, placing a single kiss to his lips. 'Sherlock… you know I've lo- cared for you for so long, I'd do anything for you.' She said straining her words, her hand on his racing heart.

'You love me,' he whispered, eyes locked onto hers. 'I don't know how to love, Molly. I feel so happy but terrified, all I know is that I want to make you happy, I _want _to love you, but… I don't have a heart.'

'Sherlock, you do have heart. I know you do, without it you wouldn't be here with me, holding me and kissing me like this. Don't listen to them, Moriarty, because it's him who has no heart, I- I have always loved you.'

He didn't know how it had happened but he kissed her, and opening the door she took him by the hand to her room, pulling the door tightly shut behind them.

When he awoke the next morning she lay in his chest wrapped protectively in his arms, him playing with her hair lightly as to not wake her. She was so silent, so peaceful, so in love; and so was he.

Leaning down to her ear, his breath tickling her neck, he whispered, 'Molly Hooper… I think I- I think I love you too.'

She would always be on his mind.

**So there you have it! My first fic finished… I'll admit I went a little OC on Sherlock but eh, what's fanfiction without copious amounts of romance? Plus I'm sorry if you guys were expecting some smexy paragraphs but I'm afraid I just don't write them! (In other words my friends are reading and considering my age it might be a LITTLE inappropriate.) anyways. I hope you've enjoyed this little fluffy ball of Sherlolly… If so please leave a review! Virtual hugs and cookies to those who do. ;)**

**Thank you x**


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